Not A Nurse
by rockmysocks456
Summary: hurt!Dean prompt: When Dean comes to someone out of the norm (Crowley, Meg, Roy & Walt, Ruby, etc.) is taking care of him. Found the prompt on hoodie time journal, here: ml?thread 3299911#t3299911 Dean has a bad concussion and Meg is there to take him to task when he refuses her help. READ AND REVIEW.
1. Chapter 1

_*__**Filling the prompt I found on hoodietime journal: When Dean comes to the person tending him isn't Sam or Bobby, it's someone out of the norm, like Crowley, Meg, Roy & Walt, etc.**_

_Set somewhere around the end of season 7 when Meg was hanging around with Cas and the Winchesters._

* * *

><p>Fingers traced and prodded Dean's forehead and hell, did it hurt. His mind's reaction was to sit up and identify the cause of the pain. But his head felt too thick and slow for him to rip through unconsciousness that fast. He slowly started to emerge. He was fairly sure at this point that he had a concussion and he didn't want to do anything else that might put him under for any longer. <em>Slow and steady, okay... who the fuck's hands are these?<em>

They weren't Sam's. He knew him too well. His giant hands were smooth on the finger tips and callused on the palms. These hands were very small. And the nails were just long enough to scratch at the broken skin that was soaking his face in blood. They were soft hands but the fingers were moving with a dexterity that implied actual use. Definitely a woman's hands, but maybe a hunter? Or one jazzy bartender. Wait, who was this?

He tried to say something and it came out in a kind of gravelly groan.

Then a needle sharp pain hit the aching spot on his eyebrow.

Slow and steady went out the window, he threw himself upright, his back straight as a rod, eyes wildly trying to focus as black swirled around him threatening to pull him under again. His left hand was in a fist, the other hand groping blindly for his knife in his back pocket. Whoever had been hovering over him had leapt back, he could feel their presense a foot or two off to the right.

"Dammit- Alright, Jason Bourne, calm down."

Dean whipped his head around and tried to focus his vision enough to confirm that the voice was-

"Meg?"

"In the flesh- Well, this dead actress's flesh, but who keeps track anymore?"

Dean blinked and he could see again. Although he was pretty sure if he moved that violently again he'd throw up so he laid back against the couch he had somehow been relocated to, because last he remembered he, Sam, Cas, and Meg had been scoping out Richard Roman Enterprises, planning their seige when they'd been confronted by some black goo oozing douchebags who... Fuck, where was Sam?

"Where's Sam? What happened? Where's Cas?"

"Cas and Sam stepped out, something about the prophet in Advanced Placement." Meg said casually, picking up the threaded needle Dean had slapped out of her hand, "As for what happened, you took a brick wall to the face and were pretty much useless for the time it took us to Borax the bastards."

She pressed his shoulder down with one hand and said, "Now, don't freak out, I'm stitching the gaping hole in your head."

Dean struggled against her surprising strength, "No, get off, I got it."

Meg allowed Dean to push her away, stand up, and then collapse immediately on the spot. She slowly crouched down next to him and said, "Blood loss is a bitch, right?"


	2. Chapter 2

She stitched the wound in about fourteen minutes. It was a little sloppy but it wasn't bleeding anymore.

Dean stood up again, this time clutching the back of the couch for support as he slowly made his way toward the mirror. He ran his finger along the grooves of uneven stitching and glared down at Meg.

"What? I never said I was any good, but someone had to stitch up that hole in your head or you were gonna bleed out."

"How did you even get a job at that hospital, _Nurse Masters?_"

He started back toward the couch as Meg crossed her arms indignantly, watching him as he went.

"It was a mental hospital, jackass, I mostly just had to give out meds and change all the light bulbs that Clarence broke."

Dean smirked. Almost offering her half a laugh. But then his vision started rocking again and he knew he wasn't making it to the couch. He started sinking, reaching out desperately for the rickety side table. Meg grabbed him around the waist and attempted to pull him back to his feet. She managed to get him to the point where he was leaning most of his weight on her, arm draped across her shoulders, too dizzy to even care that it was Meg.

But it was _Meg_. They weren't friends. He'd told her so, plenty of times.

"Le'mme go... I can do it..."

"So that little display of you shrinking into an unconscious heap of Winchester was just for funzies, right? No, I got you, okay?"

"Demonic... Bitch... We're not... Even friends... I told you..." Dean slurred, becoming less and less coherent as a swirl of gray fog clouded his vision.

Had he been looking at her, or capable of looking at her, Dean would've seen Meg bite her lip in that irritated smile of hers as she mumbled, "Alright, then." and released him.

He fell to the ground, his legs completely unsupportive of his body at the moment. She stomped across the room to the light switch and flicked all three switches on. The unlit lamps in Rufus's cabin all popped on, nice and bright in Dean's photosensitive eyes.

"Aw, shit... Meg-"

"We're not friends, Dean, what do I care if all these lights-" she ripped open the curtains, allowing the sunlight to flood in, "And all the fucking loud TV I want-" she turned on the TV, blaring the loud sobs of a Spanish soap opera, "Is gonna hurt your concussed head like hell? A friend would've accommodated to your hypersensitive needs."

"Meg..."

"But no, I'm a _demon_, and demons are evil, right? That's what your daddy told you? So, obviously staying with Cas and stitching your thick fucking head was all just part of my evil agenda."

"I'm sorry..." Dean croaked from the floor, fingers clutching his head tightly, arms blocking out the light.

Meg turned back and glared down at the pathetic, curled up ball of Dean Winchester and sighed. She closed the curtains again and slapped the light switch again to turn the lights off. She snapped her fingers and the TV turned off. She crossed the room, stepping lightly on her feet an crouched down next to Dean.

"Now, what was that?" Meg whispered.

Dean hesitated and hissed back, though through the pain and irritation was a distuinguishable honesty, "I'm _sorry_. You... Helped Cas... Helped us... And we... _I..._ owe you."

Meg smiled, helping Dean to sit up, "Now, was that so hard?"

"I'm gonna throw up."

Meg nodded, giving him a sharp pat on the shoulder before standing up to go look for a bucket.


End file.
